


blood is rare and sweet as cherry wine

by UbiquitousMixie



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, Lusty Month of May, Sibling Incest, Spellcest, Spellcest Prompt Challenge, pure filth ahead, sisters literally doing it for themselves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-03-08 06:58:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18889495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UbiquitousMixie/pseuds/UbiquitousMixie
Summary: It starts with a letter.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [winethroughwater](https://archiveofourown.org/users/winethroughwater/gifts).



> Written for the incredible winethroughwater for the Together As Sisters Lusty Month of May challenge. She requested the prompts dirty talk, Hilda's breasts, and playing with the High Priestess role. I hope that she and all of you weirdos enjoy it!
> 
> Someone also sent me a message on Instagram to recommend the song Cherry Wine by Hozier, which is perfect for H/Z, and let me just say: yes it is. (ooh...I'm sensing a prompt challenge theme for next month...)
> 
> Comments are love!

Monday.

It starts with a letter. 

Zelda has already been working for several hours when Sabrina enters her office at the Academy without knocking, sliding sleepily into the chair opposite her aunt. She hides a yawn behind a brown sack lunch, clutching a thermos of coffee to her chest. “Aunt Hilda said that you left without your lunch this morning,” the teenager explains, dropping the bag unceremoniously atop the High Priestess’s desk.

“Is that all your Aunt Hilda had to say?” Zelda asks, feigning disinterest as she continues on writing.

Sabrina rolls her eyes. “She _also_ said that you left without saying goodbye, that she knows you won’t actually stop working long enough to eat lunch so she insists you come home in time for dinner, and that there’s a note inside the bag for you so don’t just throw it away.” 

This brings a smile to Zelda’s lips. As Sabrina leaves for conjuring class, Zelda considers the lunch bag. She has little interest in food -- her tenure as High Priestess has been thus far fueled by espresso and cigarettes -- but the note has captured her curiosity. 

A reward, she decides, for a productive morning well-spent. 

She works on sermons and budgets and lesson plans until her wrist is cramped, her stomach growls, and her eyes are sore. A glance at the clock confirms that it is well after noon. 

Zelda has earned a break. 

And a cigarette. 

And her letter. 

Inside the lunch bag Zelda finds not a sandwich but a mason jar of her sister’s homemade trail mix, tied up with a yellow ribbon. She unscrews the top, shakes out a small handful of almonds, dark chocolate, and cranberries, and unfolds the note.

The missive is brief, but Zelda’s cheeks flush with heat and she reads her sister’s looping script twice more, savoring every word.

_“I miss our quiet mornings at home when I could eat you for breakfast. I love the taste of your honey on my tongue when I drink my morning cuppa._

_P.S. I know you wouldn’t have eaten lunch anyway, but you need something on your stomach to balance out the coffee & cigs -- and you’ve got an oral fixation. xx”_

Zelda’s pulse quickens and she licks her lips. 

Her beloved, prudish baby sister is not one for talking about sex, much less writing about it, and Zelda tugs on the collar of her jacket. 

She too has missed quiet mornings alone with her sister, has missed spreading Hilda’s shapely thighs while she sits bare-assed on the counter where she cans and cooks and cajoles. She licks her lips at the phantom memory of Hilda’s sweet arousal on her tongue. 

She reads the note one more time, relishing the ache between her thighs, before she puts the letter in her desk. 

There is work to be done. 

\- 

By the time Zelda teleports home, it is not quite 7pm, and her underwear is soaked. She climbs the front steps and the friction of her thighs rubbing together against her sex makes her entire body shudder by the time she has reached the top step. 

Zelda pauses to collect herself. 

She can’t stop thinking about her sister’s note. 

More specifically, Zelda cannot stop thinking about riding Hilda’s mouth, dinner be damned. 

She enters the mortuary to silence. 

In the kitchen, there is only a note on the counter beside a plate wrapped in tinfoil. 

_I’ve got the late shift at the bookshop. Made your favorite. Enjoy, Mother Spellman! -H. xx_

Zelda rolls her eyes at the and crumples the note, pursing her lips as she taps her finger against the countertop. She raises an eyebrow at Vinegar Tom, still and quiet in his basket. 

“The nerve,” she huffs indignantly. She waits for a response, forgetting, and sighs. 

-


	2. Tuesday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey weirdos! Sorry I've been MIA -- it's been a rough month but I'm hoping to get back into writing and posting with more regularity. Comments are everything!
> 
> Come play with us at together-as-sisters.tumblr.com!

Tuesday.

As High Priestess, Zelda is expected to teach a certain number of courses at the Academy. Edward had taught Conjuring, his specialty. Faustus had shown off his proficiency in Demonology and Misogyny. 

Zelda will miss the choir, but she has opted instead to play to her own strengths. 

On Mondays and Wednesdays, she teaches Ancient Tongues and Sacred Scriptures. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, she teaches Advanced Hexing. 

It still gives her a thrill to hear the impressed chatter of her students as she demonstrates some of her more interesting and controversial spellwork, to hear the hushed boasting of her niece as she explains that yes, the halls of her house _are_ lined with shoes of the people her aunt has hexed and no, they could _not_ come over to see but yes, she _would_ Insta a photo provided she did _not_ use Valencia anymore. 

Today she will teach them one of her more impressive hexes, one she devised when she was only seventeen. 

As she brushes chalk from her fingers and waits for her students to arrive, she hears a quiet throat clearing behind her. 

“Excuse me? Miss?” Quentin blinks up at her, his cherubic face tilted as he watches her with removed curiosity. “Your sister asked me to deliver this to you.” He holds up a pale blue envelope. 

“Thank you, sweetheart.” 

He smiles, pleased, and disappears as the first students trickle into the classroom. 

The note, which Zelda has tucked into her textbook, tortures her throughout class. 

If she appears distracted throughout the lesson, her students are too smart to comment on it. Once the last witch has filed into the hall, Zelda plucks up the envelope and tears into it. 

_“I’m thinking about growing out my hair. Remember how you used to love braiding it? How you loved holding on to it when you took me from behind?”_

Zelda growls. She does remember -- vividly. It had been such a shame when Hilda had cut off her beautiful, golden hair for something ‘more practical and less fussy’; Zelda hadn’t spoken to her for a fortnight. 

She still dreams of that long, luscious hair. 

Zelda has to steady herself against the chalkboard as she pictures it again, Hilda with so much glorious, blonde hair. 

Tonight, Zelda will remind Hilda of how much she enjoys to have her hair played with. 

-

Sabrina offers a distracted cheek to her aunt’s kiss, lips pursed as she studies her spellbook. “Auntie Zee, couldn’t you _just once_ choose a hex you’ve already taught me so I could have the night off? Do you have any idea how swamped I already am?”

“I will make no special exceptions for my niece,” Zelda reminds. 

“What about nieces who are also half unholy-deity?”

Zelda raises an eyebrow and Sabrina heaves a heavy, dramatic sigh. “Where is your Aunt Hilda?”

Sabrina flips through pages, mumbling latin phrases beneath her breath. “Tuesday’s Date Night, remember? I think she and Dr. Cerberus are going to the drive-in in Riverdale.”

Zelda puts back the bottle of wine she has selected, takes up the whiskey decanter instead. She swallows a burning mouthful of whiskey and ire before she turns to her niece. “Shall we order a pizza and practice your hexing homework on the delivery boy?” 

Sabrina’s obvious delight is a balm to her disappointment.

-


	3. Wednesday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You didn't think Zelda would just chill while Hilda sends her dirty notes, did you? Time to turn up the heat a bit. Let me know what you think!

Wednesday. 

By the time Zelda descends the stairs, pristinely dressed and eager for coffee, she has two orgasms under her belt and is contemplating a third. 

She’d dreamt all night of washing Hilda’s long, golden hair, had woken with her hand already working between her thighs. 

This will not do. 

She is not nearly sated.

Zelda’s eyes narrow as she hears shuffling by the front door; through the shadows in the foyer, she can just make out her sister sneaking toward the door.

“And just where are you secreting off to, sister?” Her desire ebbs as anger flares, hot and comfortingly familiar. 

Hilda pauses as her hand reaches the doorknob, and Zelda rolls her eyes as the younger witch takes a bracing breath before turning around. “I’m not _secreting off_ anywhere, Zelda. It’s been on the calendar for a month that I am giving Principal Wardwell a hand at at the bake sale to support the basketball team.” She grins sheepishly, hoisting up a large, heavy basket draped in gingham. “May have overdone it a bit…”

“How charitable of you.” Zelda approaches, taking the basket out of her hand. “Rushing off to help a defenseless, spinster school teacher.” She lowers the basket gracefully to the floor before pinning her sister against the door. “All that time spent baking when you could have been in our bedroom, fulfilling your promises.”

Hilda’s eyes darken as Zelda leans in, brushing her painted lips against Hilda’s ear. “Tell me, sister, should I expect another note of yours to cross my desk today?” She nips at her sister’s earlobe, delighting in the way Hilda whimpers. 

Hilda clears her throat. “I suppose it depends on whether you’ve been a good girl or a bad girl, Zelds.” 

Zelda hums, her tongue tracing the shell of Hilda’s ear. The younger witch trembles and lets out a sigh. “I’ve barely seen you, Hildegard. How ever will you determine if I’ve been a good girl or a bad girl, hmm?”

Hilda reaches for Zelda’s right hand -- the same hand that Zelda used to get herself off less than an hour before -- and turns to nuzzle her cheek against Zelda’s fingers. The older witch watches as her sister’s perfect mouth parts before engulfing her middle finger to the knuckle. 

Hilda whimpers like Zelda’s finger is the tastiest treat she’s ever encountered, and as Hilda’s tongue strokes obscenely around her finger, Zelda moans. “Sister…”

She needs to be at the Academy in ten minutes. She has an early class and papers to grade and sermons to write, but it would not take long for Hilda to slip a thigh between her legs or for Zelda to reach under Hilda’s garishly-patterned dress. It has been so long since they’ve fucked against the front door, and one more orgasm would surely help her focus, and if her baby sister keeps showing off just how skilled her tongue is then Zelda can’t be held responsible for --

Hilda pulls Zelda’s finger from her mouth with a ‘pop,’ her pink lips curving into a smirk. “By the taste of it, love, you’ve already been a very bad girl.”

Zelda’s head spins, dizzy with desire. “You have no idea how very bad I wish to be right now.” 

Hilda grins. “I think I do, sister.”

“Be home tonight,” Zelda says. It is not a threat. It is not a plea. 

It is an imperative. 

Hilda nods, eyes fixed on Zelda’s mouth. 

The older witch steps away, smoothing her hands along the skirt of her maroon dress. Hilda watches the motion before collecting her basket. She reaches beneath the gingham and pulls out a banana muffin, still warm from the oven. “You need breakfast.”

Zelda frowns as she takes the treat. “Not the breakfast I had in mind.” Her eyes linger over the barest hint of cleavage on display before her. Her mouth waters. 

“I’ll make it up to you later.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” 

\- 

The scratch of Zelda’s fountain pen against parchment is the only sound she can hear, and the High Priestess allows herself a moment to pause, close her eyes, and enjoy the silence. 

It is not so much the silence that Zelda appreciates but the peace that accompanies it, a sign, she believes, that her coven is at ease. They’ve been restless with anxious energy, and Zelda can hardly blame them. 

She’d been through a trauma herself. She is in a unique position to understand what her scared, wayward flock has endured. 

Zelda breathes in the silence, offers a prayer of thanks to Lilith. 

When she opens her eyes, there is a psychopomp perched atop her lamp. 

She smirks, sets down her pen, but does not turn around. 

“I hope you’re not disappointed that I’ve turned up instead of a piece of paper,” Hilda’s astrally projected form begins, standing just behind Zelda’s chair. 

“You’ve got nicer tits than a letter,” Zelda offers in return. She turns her head, but Hilda’s sharp “no you don’t” keeps her eyes fixed firmly forward. 

“You know what I’ve been thinking about all day, Zelds?”

“Baked goods? The basketball team? Mary Wardwell’s long, shapely fingers?”

“I’ve been thinking about the first time I bent you over my knee and spanked you. D’you remember?”

Zelda’s face immediately floods with heat. She does remember — vividly. Her cunt clenches in response. “Remind me,” she croaks. 

“You’d been insufferable. You were driving everyone in the house to tears, even Mother, but you were especially horrible to me. I waited until we were alone and I took you right over my knee in the parlor.” 

Zelda exhales slowly as her heart pounds. Hilda’s closer now, right behind her, and she sneaks a glimpse at the pair of sparrows to remind herself that her sister is, in actuality, across town. 

“You were so surprised. Never expected your timid little sister to pull down your drawers, did you?”

Zelda licks her lips, remembering just how labored the younger witch’s breathing had been that rainy afternoon as she had stared at Zelda’s pale, naked backside. Hilda had been enraptured, had teased and stroked her hands over each pert cheek before the first stinging slap. 

“You moaned so loud I think you woke Vinegar Tom, remember? He even rushed into the parlor to check on you and you couldn’t look him in the eye for a week. You loved it, didn’t you?”

There’s a third psychopomp now, and Zelda nods, biting her lip. “I did. I still do.”

“And don’t I know it. If only I could punish you right now, bent right over this desk. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Zelda squirms in her chair as she imagines it: cheek pressed to her desktop as Hilda’s open palm smacks against her ass. “Yes,” she whispers in a rush. 

“So would I.” 

And then Hilda — and the psychopomps — are gone. 

Zelda pinches the bridge of her nose. 

She can’t look at her desk without picturing herself bent over, at Hilda’s mercy. She shifts just so, recalling delicious phantom pain from spankings past, and confirms just how wet she is. 

_Tonight,_ she reminds herself. 

She will fuck Hilda in a matter of hours. She will make her beautiful sister moan and writhe and call her name long into the night.

Zelda _will_ murder Mary Wardwell with her bare hands if she prevents her sister from returning home. 

The High Priestess licks her lips, rolls her tense shoulders, and takes a deep breath. ‘Tonight’ is still several hours away, and there is work to be done. 

She takes up her pen. 

The Academy, quite suddenly, is no longer silent. She hears breaking glass, shouting, jeers from a crowd, a high-pitched “come quick, Aunt Zee!” Zelda sets her pen back down with a sigh, resigning herself to pushing back ‘Tonight’. 

\---


	4. Thursday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are my lifeblood!

Thursday. 

It’s a little after eight in the morning by the time an exhausted Zelda teleports home, ready for a hot bath and a brief repose before returning to the Academy. 

Hilda is waiting on the porch as Zelda wearily climbs the stairs. The younger witch nearly bounces in her red Mary Janes, fingers fidgeting with the edges of her sleeves. “For the record, I was home last night at 5:23 p.m.” 

Zelda sighs as she reaches the landing. “For the record, I was not.” 

Her sister’s face is sympathetic as she places a comforting hand on her arm. “What on earth happened?” That hand strokes soothingly from wrist to elbow, and Zelda’s tension ebbs. 

The older witch rolls her eyes at the question. “What _didn’t_ happen?” 

“Oh love, come here.” Hilda opens her arms wide, an invitation that Zelda has never been able to refuse.

Zelda allows herself to be enveloped, her arms curling around her sister’s shoulders. Hilda pulls her in close, hands splayed against her back, head tucked against Zelda’s shoulder. Elder sister hums her contentment, nuzzling her nose in baby sister’s golden hair. She breathes in deep, filling her head with the scent of her vanilla shampoo. 

“You smell divine,” she whispers, closing her eyes, brushing her lips gently against Hilda’s forehead. “You feel even better.” 

“You smell like -- is that _ash_?” 

Zelda groans, tightening her embrace, warming all over at the delicious press of her sister’s curves against her own. “A small faction of misguided warlocks believed a riot would be an effective means of postponing midterms.”

Hilda snorts. “Bloody teenagers. To think they could have played the whole ‘We Were Almost Murdered By Our High Priest And Didn’t Have Time To Study card.” 

Zelda chuckles quietly. “Enough about them. Tell me instead how you occupied yourself in my absence,” she suggests, her voice low. 

“I’d tell you all about it, but I’ve got to dash, I’m afraid.” Hilda hunches her shoulders, bracing herself for her sister’s displeasure. 

Zelda keeps her tone light, traces her finger along the slope of Hilda’s jaw. “Surely you could delay an hour or two so that you might attend to...coven business.”

Hilda kisses Zelda’s knuckles. “While I’d do just about anything for my High Priestess, I’m in charge of the shop today while Cee’s at a comic book convention.” She sighs regretfully, pulling away. “It’ll be a late one.” 

Zelda sneers, offering her sister an eye roll that would impress even the most sullen and cynical of teenagers. “Choosing a mortal over your High Priestess again,” she tuts, crossing her arms over her chest. “Are you trying to get yourself excommunicated a second time, sister?”

The blonde winks conspiratorially. “I’ve got an in with the High Priestess, remember?”

Zelda is too tired to cling to her defenses, cannot muster the dignity to refrain from looking at Hilda’s long, strong fingers. “You could have taken advantage of that in this very moment, Hildegard.” Her blue-green eyes drift toward her sister’s lips, slightly parted, plump, and pink. 

In spite of her irritation and sexual frustration, Zelda is able to recognize the regret on her sister’s face, is able to see her own lust reflected in Hilda’s eyes. The younger witch sighs. “Right. Better be off then.” She nods behind Zelda toward the chairs and, more specifically, the table upon which are Zelda’s cigarettes, a newspaper, and a thermos. “Consider that my apology.” 

Hilda leans up and presses a lingering kiss to Zelda’s mouth before she’s hurrying down the stairs. Zelda watches until Hilda has disappeared around the bend in the road.

The witch smiles at the display her sister has arranged as she settles into the chair. Hilda’s pink cardigan (handknit by Zelda herself over a rainy weekend fourteen summers ago) is draped over the arm and Zelda shrugs it over her shoulders, gathering the sweater close. She inhales deeply, breathes in the scent of lemon, lavender detergent, and Hilda, and Zelda’s cunt gives an aching, answering clench around nothing. 

Zelda slips on her cigarette holder, lights a cigarette, and settles back into the chair, pulling the sweater around her. She can feel a weight in the pocket, reaches in to pull out —

— Hilda’s diary, its worn, green cover familiar and forbidden to her. 

She’s read it many times. 

It’s her right as Hilda’s older sister. 

Zelda pours a cup of coffee, takes a fortifying sip and a drag of her cigarette, and flips open to the most recent entry. 

_Hello, old friend! It’s been ages since I’ve had time to write, what with the whole Church of Lilith thing and Sabrina being the Herald of Hell and, oh, minor update -- Zelds is the High Priestess. I s’pose that makes me the First Lady, eh? It’s been wild and wonderful and terrifying and downright magical. I feel utterly alive and alight with possibility, Diary. I’m so proud of my sister and what she has created. She’s given hope to the hopeless, a home to the homeless. She may roll her beautiful eyes at being Mother Spellman, but no one else could do what she has done. _

Zelda’s heart races, and she presses the pad of her finger against the corner of her eye, swiping away a stray tear before it ruins what remains of her makeup.

She nuzzles her nose against the sweater again, breathing in Hilda before she turns the page and continues. 

_You should see her in her High Priestess robes, Diary. She is an unholy vision in black and red. She’s glorious. She commands your attention, your devotion, your love -- all things I have readily given and will continue to give until long after I’ve taken my true last breath._

_Only, I’ve got a problem. There’s something about Zelda wielding all of this new power that makes me…_

_Sweat. Oh, who am I kidding? I can’t lie to you, Diary. Zelda in her robes makes me so wet I can barely sit still -- even now as I write this. It’s all I can think about: Zelds, in her robes, and the sounds she makes when she comes. It’s been so long, Diary, since I’ve been able to touch her, taste her._

Zelda pauses, takes in a shuddering breath. Her cheeks burn. Her cunt grows slick with want. The pulse at her temple pounds as her heart beats hard in her chest. 

_I don’t resent the coven for needing her, but oh how I miss the way her thighs feel against my cheeks when I eat her out, the way she tries to restrain her cries but ends up shouting my name loud enough to wake the dead, the way she knows just how and where I need to be touched. I can barely write this -- all I can think about is finally, finally, FINALLY getting to fuck her again._

Zelda presses a hand to her flushed throat, takes a moment to shift in her chair. 

She turns the page. 

_Reading my diary again, Zelds? How very naughty of you. You know, of course, that I mean every word. What you may not know, perhaps, is that Ambrose and Sabrina will both be away this weekend._

She should be embarrassed for her predictability. 

She is, instead, desperately turned on. 

As she closes the diary, Zelda finishes the final drag of her cigarette. “Enough is enough,” she says. 

-

Hilda does not look up from wiping down the counter when the bell jingles, signaling the arrival of another soon-to-be-happy customer. A glance at the clock confirms that she has another hour before can flip the sign to “Closed,” and so Hilda’s ready smile comes easily -- especially once she looks up to see her niece approaching. 

“Well, this is a surprise, lamb!” Hilda delights, clapping her hands. “What’ll it be? A milkshake? Sundae?” 

“Actually,” Sabrina replies, eyeing the menu. “I’m here in an official capacity, but I wouldn’t say no to a chocolate milkshake.” 

“Official capacity, eh?” Hilda asks, pulling a glass jar of milk from the fridge. 

“You and Aunt Zee seem to be telling me that you’d like me to take up a career in postal delivery,” the witch explains, unbuckling her satchel to pull out a crisp white envelope. She drops the letter to the counter. “I don’t understand why you won’t get cell phones like normal people.” 

Hilda makes easy work of the milkshake despite her nagging curiosity about the letter, and she smiles at her niece as she pours the sweet confection into a paper To Go cup. “We’re Spellmans, love,” Hilda replies, sliding the milkshake across the counter. “When have we ever been normal?” 

Sabrina laughs as she pokes a paper straw into her treat. “You can say that again, Auntie.” 

Hilda looks down at the letter, picks it up like it contains the secrets of the universe. She can almost ignore the way her fingers tingle at Zelda’s magic seeping through paper. “Er -- possum, you haven’t peeked inside these letters, have you?” 

Sabrina arches an eyebrow as she backs toward the door. “And end up with one of my Doc Martens on the Wall of Shame? No, thank you.” The young witch holds up the shake with a smile. “Thanks for the treat, Auntie Hilda. I’ll see you Monday.” 

“Wait -- I thought you weren’t leaving for your camping trip until Saturday morning?” 

Sabrina’s eyes glance at the envelope. “I think it might be better for me to make myself scarce. Aunt Zelda was...intense.” 

Hilda gulps, gives a small wiggle of her fingers as her niece ducks through the front entrance. Her palms sweat as she slides her finger beneath the flap of the envelope. There is a small card inside.

_No lingering tonight in your little shop, Hildie. Come home to me and remember — your High Priestess expects punctuality._

Hilda shudders. 

Fifty-three minutes until closing. 

\---


	5. Very Late Thursday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am playing fast and loose with the prompt challenge deadlines, but is anyone really keeping track?  
> I just have to say, yet again, that I love this weird little fandom. Y'all are the best.  
> Comments are LOVE (and despite the fact that I have been doing a terrible job at replying, I am SO appreciative of your kind words!)

Very Late Thursday. 

After several hundred centuries, Zelda has come to know her sister’s routine like the back of her hand. She hears the front door open precisely on time and she smirks approvingly at Hilda’s eager display of obedience. Hilda might be the telepath, but Zelda can sense Hilda’s magic as she makes her way to the kitchen for a cup of tea (a vehicle for the biscuit, her true prize).

Zelda readies herself as Hilda makes her way upstairs, is nearly picture perfect as her sister lingers outside the door. She pauses, considers, and continues her trek to the bathroom down the hall. 

Teal eyes darken as it becomes clear that Hilda is making one final attempt at teasing Zelda to the brink of madness. 

She has succeeded. 

Zelda knows each step Hilda will take as she readies herself for bed, knows how her sister will clean her makeup off (sometimes leaving on the eyeshadow because she loves the blue smear of it on Zelda’s pillow), will quickly change into her cotton nightgown and pink robe because the chill in the bathroom can nip unpleasantly at bare flesh. She will brush her teeth and swish around the minty water as she teases her fingers through blonde curls.

Hilda will scrutinize her reflection for imperfections, will smile when she remembers that Zelda prefers her just as she is (self-perceived flaws and all). 

By the time the bathroom door opens and there are footsteps in the hall, Zelda is ready. 

Zelda stands at the foot of her bed, rose gold hair draped across her shoulders. Her lips are stained the color of Hilda’s favorite homemade cherry wine. Her ceremonial black and red robes are parted, draped at her sides to reveal deep red lingerie in satin and lace. Her pale skin is already flushed in anticipation of her sister’s reaction to her efforts. 

Hilda does not disappoint. After hundreds of years she is still rendered speechless over her sister’s beauty, and Hilda gapes, flushing a vibrant pink, as she stares. 

“Zelda,” the blonde whispers as she takes in the sight of her, stealing inside the bedroom and locking the door behind her.

“‘Your Excellency’ is the proper way to address your High Priestess.” 

Zelda’s face remains impassive as Hilda’s fingers nervously fidget with her robe. “Your Excellency,” Hilda parrots breathlessly, eyes downcast in a show of respect. Zelda is pleased that this respect is fleeting as that curious gaze drifts along the length of her legs and the scrap of red lace over her hips to the soft curve of her stomach and the swell of her breasts. 

“Come here, Hilda,” Zelda commands, holding out a hand that her sister quickly shuffles forward to accept. 

Zelda watches as Hilda’s sharp, white teeth bite at her lower lip as their hands meet. The younger witch sucks in a breath as Zelda leans forward and then, ever so slowly -- 

\-- Zelda sinks to her knees, guiding Hilda down with her. 

“What are we --” Hilda asks, mouth agape as her sister’s breasts quiver with the graceful movements of her body. 

“We’re praying, sister.” Zelda takes Hilda’s other hand in her own, gives her fingers a squeeze. “You haven’t been forgetting your nightly prayers, have you, Hildie?”

“Oh, uh -- well, no, but sometimes I pray earlier in the day --” she stammers, color rising high in her cheeks. 

“I would hate to think that you were neglecting these sacred rituals,” Zelda begins, voice lowering to a throaty cadence that has her sister’s heart racing. “Shall I begin?”

Hilda murmurs as soft “Yes, Your Excellency,” lowers her head in contemplation. Zelda can feel her sister’s unwavering gaze on her tits. 

“Lilith, we praise you this night. We thank you for your protection, for your wisdom, for your strength. We shall not take your love in vain, for we are _ripe_ with love,” Zelda adds, watching as Hilda’s chest shudders to take in a shaky breath. “We offer our bodies completely to accept the blessings of these delicious, divine gifts.” The tip of Hilda’s pink tongue darts along her lower lip as Zelda tilts her head back. Her eyelids flutter closed and Zelda can hear the sharp intake of breath as she shifts her shoulders to readjust the fabric of her robes, offering more of her creamy décolletage to Hilda’s greedy stare. “We crave a firm hand to guide us to the precipice of possibility, Lilith,” Zelda continues, lips quirking into a smirk as Hilda hides a gasp in a cough. “Bless this coven. Bless the Spellman family. And most of all,” Zelda says quietly, interlacing their fingers, “Bless my beloved sister.” 

Hilda sighs, breathes a silent ‘amen’ as Zelda rises, tugging their still-clasped fingers until the shorter witch is standing on unsteady legs. Her body sways toward Zelda’s, and every cell in the elder sister’s body yearns for sweet, sweet friction. 

Zelda shrugs the robes over her shoulders, head held high as Hilda watches the fabric pool at her bare feet. Her body burns as her sister stares at her, taking in the porcelain of her thighs and belly and breasts. She has never felt as beautiful, as wanted, as she does when Hilda looks at her. It has always been this way and shall remain this way until they are merely stardust. “You must be exhausted, sister.” 

Elder sister stares at the column of younger sister’s throat as she swallows, offering a belated nod. “I s’pose…” 

“As am I,” Zelda replies, reaching behind her back to deftly unhook her bra, delighting in the way Hilda’s eyes track its progress as she slides the straps down her arms. Hilda’s eyes do not waver as they observe how Zelda hooks her thumbs into the elastic of her underwear, drawing sodden lace down her legs until she is standing bare before her. 

Hilda’s lips part; she is too breathless to gasp. “You must be ready to drop after the night _you_ had.” 

Zelda languidly bends to gather her things, saunters lazily around the room to hang her robe. A hasty glance in the mirror confirms that her sister is staring at her naked body. “I’m not sure I’ve ever been so ready to fall into bed with you,” Zelda replies, catching her sister's eye as she selects a gold silk nightgown. Her flesh tingles pleasantly as Hilda appreciates her nude form. 

Hilda loves Zelda in her exquisitely tailored clothing, but she loves her naked even more, has since they were carefree children basking bare together in the sun. 

And Zelda certainly knows it. She turns, offering a view of her backside. Hilda remains rooted to the spot, fingers clutching at the sleeves of her robe as she observes Zelda shimmy the gown over her body.

Hilda’s stare feels like a caress over her entire body, and Zelda is nearly shivering with want as she gets into her bed, pulling the sheets down to pat the mattress invitingly. “Were you planning on watching me sleep?” 

The blonde stammers and springs into motion, shrugging off her robe and hoisting herself into the tall bed. Zelda presses the front of her body to Hilda’s back, plunging the room into darkness with a snap of her fingers. Zelda curls her arm possessively around her sister’s stomach, nuzzles her nose in her hair, and whispers, “Good night, sister.” 

Hilda’s confusion is deafening and Zelda’s ever-present smirk deepens. “Right. Sleeping...g’night, Zelds.” 

Zelda is rarely the big spoon -- especially after the ordeal with Blackwood. She prefers the comforting presence of her sister’s arms around her but tonight, this suits her needs. 

Hilda is tense. 

Zelda is delighted. The older witch waits several silent moments before repositioning her body, unfurling her arm from where it rests beneath her head so she can toy with her sister’s hair. Hilda’s shiver of pleasure is immediate. Zelda’s short, crimson nails scratch against the younger witch’s scalp as her other hand begins to gently caress Hilda’s stomach through the cotton of her night dress.

The younger witch squirms, her backside pressing firmly against Zelda’s pelvis. A surge of arousal courses through her as she wills her own body not to react. 

She strokes the softness of Hilda’s belly, the flat of her palm soothing against her curves. She twirls silky golden hair around her fingers. Hilda begins to relax; she lets out a shaky, unsure breath. 

If Zelda knows her sister (and she does), Hilda is now teeming with unspent desire. 

She cannot hold back her grin.

Gradually, slowly, Zelda broadens the soothing, circular path of her palm, stroking along the rise of her hips and thighs and then back up, higher and higher until her hand is palming Hilda’s breast. 

The younger witch sucks in a breath. 

Zelda rests here for a moment, content to feel the weight of her sister’s breast against her fingers and the tight, furled peak of her nipple through the fabric of her gown. 

And then she begins to move. 

Zelda keeps her touch light, tracing her fingertips along the swell of flesh and around her puckered areola. Hilda breathes sharply through her nose, shifting her hips once more back against her sister’s. Zelda holds back a whimper, wants desperately to angle her hips, hike up her dress, and grind her cunt against Hilda’s pert, round ass. But she refrains, calls upon her own steely, stubborn calm, and instead rolls her sister’s nipple between her fingers. 

Hilda’s answering cry is even more delicious than she had anticipated and she relishes it, wants to taste it echo in her mouth. She pinches again and Hilda whimpers a strangled, “Zelda.” 

“Hmm?” Zelda releases her sister’s nipple and gropes her breast, reveling in the delicious handful. She has always been fascinated by her sister’s breasts, has loved to stare and taste and squeeze, has spent her lifetime worshiping at the altar of her sister’s sensual, curvaceous body. 

“I thought…” Hilda exhales sharply as Zelda’s nails flick once more against her nipple. “I thought we were going to sleep.” 

“We are,” Zelda whispers, lips brushing Hilda’s ear. Zelda scoots closer, arching her back _just so_ to graze her own breasts against her sister. 

Hilda strains forward into Zelda’s touch. “I feel very awake right now.” 

The older witch tweaks Hilda’s nipple. “Do you?” Her thumb caresses the rigid peak gently, ever so gently, before she pinches once more. 

Hilda moans this time, loud and unabashed as she presses her thighs together, and Zelda’s grin is feral. 

“Perhaps now you will have some understanding of how I have felt all week,” Zelda hisses, brushing her lips against Hilda’s ear. Hilda covers her sister’s hand with her own, holding her close as Zelda’s relentless fingers tease and tweak and pluck. 

“I felt it too,” Hilda mumbles, unable to help panting for breath. 

“Oh? Did you feel your own arousal sticky on your thighs as you taught a classroom full of students? Were you late to a staff meeting because you were preoccupied by fantasies of your dirty slut of a sister?” 

Hilda surprised moan rings in Zelda’s ears. “No,” the younger witch gasps, “but I did burn a batch of muffins daydreaming about your mouth between my legs, and I did set the espresso machine on fire after your note today."

Zelda growls, nips her teeth at Hilda’s earlobe, and pinches hard. Hilda’s hips jerk back in response and the pressure ricochets throughout Zelda’s oversensitized body. “I was very nearly caught masturbating at my desk.”

“Oh!” Hilda gasps, licking her lips. “I -- I had to stop writing in my diary so I could touch myself.” 

Zelda groans into her sister’s ear, her cunt throbbing to be touched. The surge of her arousal thrills her, energizes her, makes her feel alight with unholy passion. She must temper this but oh, Lilith, how she wants to fuck her sister until dawn breaks over Greendale, how she wants to be fucked in return. “Oh, _Hildie_.”

And, drawing upon steely resolve, Zelda releases her sister’s breast, scoots back until their bodies no longer touch, and presses a chaste kiss to the back of Hilda’s head. “Enough. It’s time we rest now.” 

“Zelds…” 

“You’ll need your sleep, Hildegard. I have such plans for you.”

“That better not be another tease,” Hilda warns. 

“I suppose you’ll find out in the morning.” 

\---


	6. Friday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sits back nervously* I hope this chapter is worth the wait...

Friday. 

At first glance, nothing is out of the ordinary as three of the four Spellmans gather around the breakfast table on that gray Friday morning. 

Hilda, comfortingly familiar in her pink robe, sneaks a slice of bacon into Salem’s dish and scratches behind his ears as Zelda, clad in her lacy black dressing gown, pours a second cup of coffee. 

The kitchen is quiet but for the rain.

Caffeine cuts through brain fog, and Ambrose takes a second glance. 

Though there is nothing inherently unusual about the aunts wearing bathrobes to the breakfast table, Ambrose cannot recall the last time he has seen Zelda still at home at this hour. For that matter, he typically doesn’t see Hilda around on a Friday morning as she tends to open the bookshop. 

He glances at the calendar, confirms the day of the week. 

Definitely Friday. 

“What are your plans for the day, love?” Hilda asks, stirring her coffee. She puts the spoon into her mouth, sucks off the sugar.

Ambrose watches Zelda watching Hilda’s mouth. 

He coughs around a mouthful of egg and washes it down with orange juice. “I’m not completely finished with restocking inventory in the embalming room, so I ought to start there.” 

“Nonsense,” Zelda replies airily, taking a drag of her cigarette. “You’ve been working too hard, Ambrose. I insist you take the day off.” 

“Too right,” Hilda agrees, reaching across the table to pat his arm affectionately. “You deserve it.” 

He schools his features, refrains from arching a skeptical eyebrow. He is fully aware that he has been shirking his duties in the mortuary at every feasible opportunity.

He is also fully aware that Zelda misses nothing. 

He wonders if this is a trap.

Ambrose watches Hilda watching Zelda as she purses her lips around the filter of her cigarette.

“No one works harder than the two of you,” he mentions with a smile, not beyond stroking his aunt’s ego to prolong her beneficence. “Are you two playing hookey today? If anyone deserves it, it’s the Sisters Spellman.” 

“‘Hookey’? Honestly, Ambrose,” Zelda scoffs, rolling her eyes. “I happen to have nothing scheduled until this afternoon. High Priestesses do not have the luxury of playing hookey.” 

Hilda hastily adds, “No work for me today. Worked a double yesterday. Had a bit of an incident with the espresso machine last night so I’m grateful for the reprieve if I’m honest.” Hilda quickly gets to her feet, plucking up dishes scattered around the table. “Won’t it be lovely to spend the morning together, sister? It’ll be just like old times. Do you fancy a puzzle?” 

Zelda flicks the ashes of her cigarette, eyes tracking her sister’s movements around the kitchen. “I’m not in the mood for a puzzle, Hilda, though I’m sure we shall come to some sort of satisfactory arrangement.” 

Ambrose stares at his plate, chewing a very large mouthful of toast. He blushes when Hilda grazes her hip against Zelda’s arm as she reaches forward to pick up the remaining plate.

“Leave a slice of bacon for Vinegar Tom, will you?” Zelda asks, pulling the rubber band from around her Italian newspaper. 

“Zelds, he _can’t eat it,_ ” Hilda replies, propping a hand on her hip. “It’s a waste of perfectly good bacon.” 

Zelda glares at her sister, rises to her feet, and snatches a crispy slice from the plate. Ambrose watches Hilda watching Zelda as she bends in front of Tom’s bed, setting the bacon at his motionless paws. “How’s that any different to giving away ‘perfectly good bacon’ to Sabrina’s stray familiar?” 

“Lilith help us all,” Hilda mutters, refusing to state the obvious. She rolls her eyes as she sets to putting away jars of homemade preserves. 

Ambrose watches Zelda watching Hilda’s ass. 

“When did you say you were leaving?” Zelda asks, distracted, lighting a fresh cigarette. 

“Uh. Now, actually.” He swallows the rest of his orange juice and gets to his feet. He kisses Zelda’s cheek and then Hilda’s, backing toward the door. “I know when to make myself scarce.” 

“I was beginning to wonder,” Zelda mumbles, and Ambrose barks out a laugh as he heads for the door.

He has watched his aunts resolve their tensions in a variety of ways over the past seventy-five years, and he is ever so grateful that he no longer has to remain housebound while it happens. 

At least no one’s getting murdered anymore, he reasons, calling out a loud goodbye before he slams the door, knowing they’re no longer paying him a lick of attention. 

Ambrose is laughing as he teleports to the Academy. 

-

“You’re honestly going to wash dishes? Now?” Zelda demands incredulously, hands on her hips. 

Hilda turns off the faucet with a giggle, revealing dry hands as she turns around. She scrunches her nose, knowing her sister will immediately forgive the deception. “Couldn’t resist.” Hilda steps forward, curling her arms around Zelda’s shoulders. “You never hold back once I’ve gotten you all riled up, and that’s what I’ve been desperate for.” 

“Say it,” Zelda commands, fingers sinking into her sister’s ample hips, pulling her body flush against Zelda’s own. “You’ve been so bold, my little Hildie,” Zelda states, brushing her lips against Hilda’s. “Tell me what you want.” 

Hilda moans against Zelda’s mouth. “I want you to fuck me, sister.” 

Zelda has waited so long.

She pushes Hilda back against the sink, claiming her mouth in a desperate kiss. Zelda’s body is set aflame at the first touch of Hilda’s tongue against her own. She groans, stroking her tongue insistently along the roof of Hilda’s mouth before pulling back, sucking on her sister’s plump lower lip. “With pleasure.”

Zelda soothes her tongue against her sister’s pulse point, tasting just how rapidly the younger woman’s heart is pounding. It matches Zelda’s own and she hums against it, grazing her teeth against tender flesh as her fingers hike up the fabric of her nightgown. 

At the first touch of golden down against her knuckles, unobstructed by a cotton barrier, Zelda sucks in a breath, groaning into her sister’s throat. Hilda never, _ever_ goes commando and the knowledge that she fried bacon and boiled eggs completely bare beneath her gown renders the older witch momentarily dumb. “Hilda,” she whispers, sighing as Hilda’s hand covers her own, guiding it between her legs. 

When Zelda’s fingertips are met with abundant wetness, the sisters moan in tandem. 

Zelda’s been waiting so long, but she’s willing to wait a little longer. Hilda’s all hellfire and honey between her thighs. Zelda wastes no time dropping to her knees. 

“Oh, Zelda…” 

The older witch repositions one of her sister’s ample thighs over her shoulder as she leans in, nuzzles her nose against sodden, sticky curls, and laps her tongue in one broad stroke along the length of Hilda’s slit. 

Hilda hisses, hands slapping against the counter as she scrambles for purchase. She arches her hips, bucking against her sister’s mouth and fingers as she parts her folds. 

The time for games has ended. 

Zelda is through with teasing.

Her tongue flicks against Hilda’s clit, soothing against the sensitive nub until the blonde is bearing down against her lips. Zelda curls her arm around Hilda’s thigh and clutches at her hip with her other hand, holding her steady as she fucks her little sister in earnest. 

Zelda wants to tear the orgasm out of her, wants to taste it flooding her mouth while her sister’s cries echo throughout the mortuary. She needs it, has been gagging for it all week, has been out of her mind with lust. Hilda smells divine and tastes even better and Zelda is drunk with it, dizzy with want. She sucks Hilda’s clitoris into her mouth, wraps her lips around it and scrapes her teeth against it and massages it with her tongue. The younger witch pleads for mercy, for release.

She could so easily pull away. She could torment her beloved sister. She could deny her release the way she too was denied all week with Hilda’s teasing. 

At another time in her life, Zelda might have considered this option. 

She’s not considering it now, not when Hilda is so close, is hovering on the edge of blinding satisfaction. 

Days of letters have been leading to this moment. 

When Hilda comes, her body shudders violently as pleasure radiates throughout every pore, every strand of hair, every nerve ending. She cries out Zelda’s name as if in prayer. 

Zelda is rapturous. 

-

They make it as far as the landing overlooking the kitchen, midway between floors. Zelda had tried to be strong. She had clutched her sister’s hand hard, had very nearly dragged her up the stairs. But then Hilda had abruptly stopped and tugged on their joined hands until Zelda was directly in front of her, explaining that she needed to kiss her right that very minute for fear of perishing without it. 

They haven’t been able to stop. 

Hilda fingers haplessly fidget with the small buttons of Zelda’s lace dressing gown as her tongue sweeps a broad stroke along the length of her sister’s throat. Zelda groans, sighs, and pauses as she feels the lace tug unforgivingly. 

“Gentle, sister,” Zelda coos softly, covering Hilda’s hand with her own. Deft fingers make quick work of the gown, and Zelda shimmies it over her shoulders. She drapes it over the banister and adds, “You must be careful with beautiful things.” 

Hilda’s large doe eyes trail over newly exposed flesh. “Oh, must I?” 

This is how Zelda finds herself turned around, stomach pressed against banister as Hilda bunches gold silk around her hips. The fingers that part her dripping folds are gentle but then three of them press in hard, and Zelda sees stars. She widens her legs, thrilled at the idea of how obscene they must look. She is what Hilda would call “embarrassingly wet”; with each twist of Hilda’s wrist, the squelching sounds of her desire fill the great foyer of their home. Zelda clenches around her, crying out when Hilda leans against her, sinking her teeth into her shoulder. 

“Yes,” Zelda whispers after a grunt of pleasure as her sister’s relentless, confident, greedy fingers stroke inside of her.

They fall into a rhythm perfected centuries ago. Zelda rocks back, meeting each thrust of Hilda’s fingers. “Harder,” she begs, clutching tightly at the banister. “Hilda, please…” 

The blonde witch licks the ridges of Zelda’s spine above the edge of her gown as her free hand grips her hip. Zelda is delirious with pleasure and she can do nothing but allow herself to be guided into a quickening pace, undulating her hips in delicious counterpoint. 

Zelda gasps to feel Hilda’s fingers still. “Hilda —“

“Help me, Zelds.” Hilda curls her arm around Zelda’s waist, steadying the trembling older witch. She drags her teeth against Zelda’s shoulder blade. 

Zelda releases her hold on the wooden beam, will repair the scratched finish with magic later, and winds her hand between her legs. She groans as her fingers glide through wet folds. She bypasses her clit, goes instead to where her sister’s fingers thrust at a dizzying pace. 

Hilda moans her sister’s name, sucks at a mole on Zelda’s back, working her fingers harder as the older witch glides back to her clit, rubbing in frenzied circles until her head is dizzy and her cunt is clenching hard around her sister’s fingers and she is finally, blissfully coming. 

She feels it everywhere, euphoric. 

Hilda’s name echoes off the walls. 

Hilda strokes her through ecstasy, milks every ounce of pleasure until Zelda is weak-kneed, breathless, and clinging to her sister. 

-

The sting of the shower is just shy of scalding, exactly as Zelda prefers. Hilda likes her showers a little more temperate, as she reasons that she runs a little hotter than Zelda. 

Hilda is too preoccupied to notice that the water is too hot, that steam curls around them until they are both matching shades of flushed pink. It rains down on Zelda’s back and she is too preoccupied to notice how her pale flesh tingles under the unrelenting spray of the forgotten shower. 

Neither are particularly bothered about getting clean. 

Zelda will wash herself eventually; her primary focus is the slippery glide of Hilda’s nipple in her mouth while her fingers caress gently between her sister’s thighs. 

“Come here,” Hilda urges, cupping her sister’s face in her hands and guiding her until their mouths are pressed together. Their tongues glide at a leisurely pace, no longer motivated by urgent need. They don’t have as long as Zelda would prefer before she must attend to her duties at the Academy, but she will always make time for the sweet slide of Hilda’s lips against her own. 

Zelda grips at her sister’s naked, wet hips. “Worth the wait?” Zelda asks, teeth worrying Hilda’s bottom lip.

Hilda’s thumbs caress the apples of her cheeks. “You’ve always been worth the wait, sister.”

They kiss and caress until the water has gone cold. 

-

Hilda lies sideways across Zelda’s unmade bed, chin resting on her fist. She watches as Zelda sits at the small dressing table, pinning back her perfectly curled rose gold hair. 

That Zelda is completely nude as she does her hair is not lost on Hilda. 

This is a sight she has cherished over the years, a favorite pastime: observing her beautiful sister. She watches the way those sure, clever fingers pull back hair, the way her triceps flex, the way her nipples furl into taut peaks. Pale legs are crossed pristinely, as if Zelda isn’t completely in the buff, and Hilda feels a surge of fierce, unwavering love for her sister.

“You’re staring,” Zelda remarks with a slow smile, catching Hilda’s eye in the mirror. 

“And you’re fishing for compliments.”

Zelda considers, gives an affable shrug. She smiles. “Perhaps.” 

“You’re beautiful, but you know that.” Hilda shoves herself up into a sitting position, swinging her legs over the side of the mattress. “You’re also not due at the Academy for another forty-five minutes,” she adds, scooting awkwardly off the tall bed. 

Zelda watches in the mirror as she secures her final pin, dramatically draping her copper curls across milky shoulders. “What is your point, Hildegard?”

Hilda drops to her knees, spreads her sister’s thighs, and makes her point with her tongue. 

-

Zelda stands in her ceremonial robes before the coven as they file into what remains of their unholy, desecrated church, chattering quietly as they fill empty pews. 

Hilda is at her rightful spot in the first pew.

There are so few of them now, but the renewed faith of the survivors gives their coven hope, a sense of purpose. A surge of pride, of love, of grief grips at the High Priestess.

The coven congregates with more regularity now, a testament to their faith in her as their leader. Her flock needs the anchor of her presence before them, needs the tether to hold on to. 

As the witching hour approaches, Zelda opens the tome before her at the podium. 

Stuck between the pages is a blue envelope. 

Zelda flushes, casts her eyes to find her sister’s in the front pew. Hilda is speaking animatedly with Elspeth and pays her no mind. 

Zelda swallows. Her heart begins to pound.

She should absolutely _not_ open this now, here, before the entire coven. 

And yet, Zelda slides her finger beneath the flap of the envelope, unfolds the small sheet of paper. 

_You lasted four whole days this time, Zelda. I’m impressed._

_I’ve got a special treat for you if you can make it to five…_

Zelda clears her throat and looks up, meeting her sister’s gaze. 

Hilda smiles serenely. 

Arousal burns anew. 

The High Priestess squares her shoulders. She nods at Hilda. 

Challenge accepted, but first, she has a service to lead.

“Brothers and sisters…” 

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did it! I actually finished a chapter fic! I hope you all enjoyed it and winethroughwater, I hope I did your prompt request justice! I had a delightful time writing this for you!
> 
> Comments stroke my ego and also make me extremely happy, so let me know what you think!
> 
> Wanna come hang out in the Spellcest group chat? Come find me on Tumblr (same screen name or check out the Together As Sisters page!) and I'll send you the invite link! (trolls need not apply)


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